What You Want: study of a strange love
by s. du jour
Summary: Opal Koboi. Briar Cudgeon. Driven by ego and a chilling lust for power, they find in each other allies, and something more.


**Update notice: I didn't realise when I posted this the first time around that the formatting had gone all weird. I've just fixed it up. Anyway, I'm expanding on Opal and Cudgeon's relationship in _The Arctic Incident_.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Artemis Fowl. **

* * *

He wanted power. He wanted her. And she knew it and she offered it to him.

She wanted the world. She wanted him. And he knew it and he offered it to her.

They both took it all.

They met in secret for the first time since she slipped him the truth pill and found out his plan. Both with a common goal: seize power.

It could work.

As they talked, she focused on his words. Not his face. She didn't want to look at his face yet. Maybe once she'd gotten used to him, then she could stand it. Normally Opal Koboi was made of sterner stuff, but his face really was hideous.

She got used to Briar Cudgeon surprisingly quickly. The way his voice came alive with the light of revenge when he was describing was delicious. The plans he detailed were clever and workable. More and more, she began to really believe.

The secret meetings took on more than simply a business-like nature. To her they had an edge, a thrill. And not just because they were planning, together, to take over the world. Perhaps there was something even more to them, to the excitement she felt in her belly when the time came to see him again.

His face wasn't that bad.

* * *

She's coming over now. Look sharp. D'arvit, Julius, d'arvit to you for doing this to my face.

She's so beautiful. So small. So powerful. Her ambition… Why won't my hands stop shaking? You don't have a chance with her anyway, Cudgeon, so why are you bothering to think you have a chance? My hands are still shaking, d'arvit. There's no way she could care; she won't even look at me that way.

No, Cudgeon, don't smooth your hair when she's so close to you. You'll look like even more of an idiot than you already are. Too late, you fool.

Did she notice? No, I don't think she's noticed.

She's talking to me now. Cudgeon, pay attention—after all, the next stages of the revolution depend on this, and if you seem weak she'll trample all over you.

She's perfect.

* * *

The first time they kissed it was electric. Neither of them knew how it had happened. One minute they were greeting each other at the door and sitting down to refine their plans. The next, their lips were pressed together, shockingly, scarily. Neither pulled away. Neither deepened the kiss.

Their eyes stayed open the whole time, afraid to close and show their vulnerability, unable to close with the shock—who was feeling what?

Eventually Briar managed to pull back, hoping his bliss was at least partly concealed.

He stared at her, purely amazed. She looked back at him, not bothering to hide the desire in her eyes. No matter that his face was gone, he was still beautiful because of who he was, what he wanted, the way that kiss had made her feel. She knew him now.

When he pulled back and looked at her, an incomprehensible expression on his face, it seemed to strip her from her head to her toes. She managed, but she could barely stand up to his gaze. Did he know that? If he could do this to _her_… Imagine what he could do to a city. Opal didn't know what she was filled by, but perhaps she could work around it. In the meantime, he was here and this was now and why not?

She moved in for another kiss, as delicate as a butterfly, as graceful as a cat. As powerful as a lioness. His eyes widened a fraction. She wanted him? Her small face came closer, her eyes narrowed, as though trying to calculate what he was going to do. Challenging him.

Cudgeon took a deep breath. It was now or never. He wasn't going to be beaten by some pixie.

And so he closed his eyes, his good eye and his bad eye, and tried to forget about his scarred, melted face and took her perfect one in his hands—trying not to be rough, but there was no way to describe how hard it was because he wanted this, and he turned his head and kissed her on the mouth.

And as soon as he'd done that everything was good, because she hadn't pulled back, she'd opened her mouth slightly and that could only be a good thing and all he could think about were her lips on his face, on his cheek, his forehead, his neck, even the damaged areas he'd thought would never be attractive; and he could almost believe that she wanted him, but right now he'd take what he could get, however she felt deep down, whyever she was doing this.

* * *

And then they break apart, out of breath, and they stare at each other. Opal looks at him, sly and smug. He looks at her, possessive and aloof, though he feels anything but.

They lean in once more.

And then again.

* * *

You kiss him—will he come under your power? Soon, it has paid off.

It becomes normal. Soon he moves his own belongings into you headquarters, the better to be near her. Maybe to test you, to keep an eye on you—as if he could do anything!—but also because he loves you, or thinks he does.

Every time you see him, you can't cringe at his face. You mustn't. You must stare at him, as though he is completely normal.

In time, it becomes habit.

In time, you don't care. You listen to his plans and despite yourself, you're fascinated with this person. His motivation, his driving force to be somebody. You could play this so well…

But in time, you also begin to admit something dangerous to yourself. Something that makes you want to forget all thoughts of how you can manipulate him, and instead think purely of him and nothing else.

It could be dangerous.

* * *

From outside the simulator training booth you watch him as he pumps shells into Commander Root's holograph fanatically. It's a little sad, the way he's focused on Root so much. Contemptible. And you don't normally allow for hangups with your tools.

But he still mesmerises you, the way he moves, his arrogance. The way he moves, especially.

When he finally logs off and leaves, you follow him with your eyes. He really is in his prime, and he knows it. He feels the stare and looks back at you.

He says, without even smiling because he never smiles, but with something close to a grin in his voice: "You'll get to check me out when I'm in action some day soon."

You feel something inside that makes you raise your eyebrows wickedly—and what's more, though you'd never admit it, you want that feeling. As he crosses to the chair and takes you in his arms you realise that this is the elf you're falling for. The elf you've already fallen for. His devious, gallant ways and his lust for power and his calculating mind and his scowling face and his fire and his desire and his passion and the way he's holding you right now.

Maybe he's still in there somewhere. Maybe, if you could find the key, you could bring him back to this all the time.

Just maybe.

* * *

Briar Cudgeon rubbed his forehead as he steeled himself for another meeting with those loathesome goblins. Never mind that they were necessary, their appearance, their habits, their very _essence_ unnerved and disgusted him. He rubbed his forehead again. He hated the feel of it, but he couldn't stop touching it when he was alone. Its bubbled fierceness felt so odd, so alien, and yet so much part of him. He knew where every boil was, every slough of sagging skin, every flaking sore, every tightness.

It reminded him of what he had to lose, what he'd already gained, the tenuous link between dreams and reality. He looked over at Opal, sleeping soundly on a hovercouch. It was the middle of the night, but she was too exhausted and she trusted him too much to stay awake. Asleep, she didn't look defenceless. She seemed just as feisty as ever.

And in her presence, he was unwinding. Maybe she really did want him after all.

But he had to be better. He had to prove that he was worthy. D'arvit, she had him eating out of the palm of her hand!

But there was no help for that. Soon they would be equal, and his scars would be made up for by the fact that he was simply indespensible. Once he ruled Haven and every city under the earth, they wouldn't matter a bit because nobody would be able to disregard him, laugh at him, write him off…

After all, he would be their leader. He would hold the power. And as for Opal—

No.

Remembering Opal, his face softened. And although he knew it was a mistake, he felt oddly protective.

* * *

julius root you can run but you cant hide i know where you are now and in ten seconds ill know where you are again i know it all i am not going to let you go the next time i catch you so what if i missed d'arvit this softnose hasn't killed you yet but it will someday oh it will julius you fool you'll walk right into it and then ill have you you know something killing you when youll always come back just isnt working for me anymore i want to kill you for real and i will and ill gloat every step of the way and ill walk right up to you and grin in your face and you'll be dead and on fire the way i was when you melted my face d'arvit d'arvit d'arvit soon your precious council will be eating out of the palm of my hand and your precious centaur will be behind bars and your precious captain will be dead and ill hold your life and death and everybody elses in my hands and that will be the best revenge of all

* * *

Infatuation is all well and good, but there are some things that take precedence. She's always been like that and this part of her will never change. She's not in a good mood. He looks worse than usual today, clammy and perspiring from the simulator, sweat irritating his skin, and things are going wrong.

Curled up on a floating Hoverboy, she says something sharply, lazily, without thinking.

He isn't having a good day either, so he shoots her down, one, two bursts from his Redboy and tells her she'd better get used to his face. Then he helps her up gallantly, and dusts her off and she wonders who he is and she hates herself for cringing and taking his violence. But all in good time. If she hadn't taken it, if she'd stood up for herself, she wonders whether she'd still be alive.

She acts nonchalant, they talk for a few minutes. Then he leaves.

But she saw the madness in his eyes and now she can't deny it. She thought she loved him. Maybe she still does. But something has to be done and all those plans that she thought she could make to keep him with her are now null and void. The original scheme now reinstates itself. He must become a tool, nothing more.

Still, she grieves for him, just a little.

* * *

Her pity and her love turns to disgust. She sleeps with one eye open because the minute she doesn't love him? That's when she no longer trusts him. Maybe she stopped trusting him even before then.

Cudgeon doesn't know any of this, but he looks at her, seemingly asleep, and he can't see any of what he loved about her. She's tiresome now. He was swept away for a minute, but nothing can detract from duty.

He can't keep her. She'll be in the way when he finally gets what he wants; she'll ruin everything for him.

And yet she's still beautiful. She could have her advantages… Perhaps he'll keep her around a while longer.

It's all gone to plan. Foaly's stuck in that booth and everybody's right where she wants them. Mud Men weren't part of the plan, but they can just as quickly be erased.

Then the Mud Boy's phone rings and she hears _his_ voice coming from the speaker, telling Foaly—and now, everybody—what's going to happen to her.

She looks at him for a denial, and sure enough, he gives her one. But his eyes, those mad eyes that can no longer tell a lie—they betray him.

She can't believe it. After all of the plans _she_ made to get _him_ out of the way. That fool. That Redboy-toting, Root-shooting, pathetic, face-melted, mad, mad fool. And he still thought he could take her down.

But the biggest disgust of all is that which she feels for herself. She had underestimated him, underestimated the lengths to which his ambition could have gotten there first and she despises him for that.

* * *

You know the game's up on all sides. You're cornered, all right. You've waited too late. You're stupid. So when she flies at you in her hoverboy you're ready for anything, nerves aflame. You have to shoot everything you have into taking her down, shoot her with the weapon that was meant for Julius Root, that you spent ages blasting his image with. Your dearest enemy. All of a sudden, she's taken that place. You shoot her and shoot her, twice as you always have, as tradition dictates, but this time, she's too protected. She's learned well. And as you pull the trigger a third time, the Hoverboy catches you and flings you into the air. The rush of air tugs at your fragile skin and the rail digs into your stomach. It hurts a little but not as much as the fire. You're on fire again. You're on fire. There's nothing else.

Your body's going to match your bubbled, broiled face. Like a piece of battered fish fried to perfection in plasma.

And then…

Nothing.

* * *

Opal Koboi's in chains, but she doesn't waste time grieving. She's been lucky once, but she won't count on it again. She'll take power some other way. It could take a month, it could take a year, but she's got time. If it's the last thing she does, she'll have power.

She's learned the hard way: work alone.

* * *

**So yeah, I've wanted to write this for ages. If you review, please tell me what you thought of it. If you don't review, you can mindbeam your opinion to me or something, but clicking the review button's probably a safer bet.**

**Steph. **


End file.
